


When It Rains, It Pours

by DumpsterSellout



Series: Any Way The Wind Blows [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 70s era, Brian is a good friend gosh, Emetophobic character, Freddie is sick, John is trying, John loves Freddie so fucking much, M/M, Roger is a dumb but we love him, Sick Freddie, Sickfic, So hard, my baby still emetophobic tho, oml guess what im back, smile era maybe??, uni days again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-27 03:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterSellout/pseuds/DumpsterSellout
Summary: Freddie had the sinking feeling that he was coming down with something, as much as he hated to admit it. He’d managed to make it all the way through December and January without getting so much as a sniffle, despite his flatmates seemingly insisting on catching everything that was going around. He was probably well overdue to get sick. There were hundreds of things going around at school at the moment, and he could only hope that whatever this was wouldn’t be too bad.Freddie is sick, and John is fucking determined to help him feel better





	1. Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> surprise bitches im back with the Freddie fic bc it is three thirty nine in the morning and i have lost control of my life  
> i know i said i wasn't gonna post this for like a week but uhh  
> psych i guess  
> also im literally just plagiarising my own work atm i promise brians fic is gonna be different (don't hold me to that i suck)  
> enjoy plz

Freddie looked around the lecture hall, blinking as the lights came back on. His professor was up there, talking away about… something. He wasn’t focusing, they’d been shown a short film and he’d almost fallen asleep in the middle of it. It had taken everything he had not to fall asleep, because he knew people would notice if he did, and that would be far too embarrassing. He snored, loudly, and even though nobody in his flat had ever complained, it wasn’t something he was willing to give out as public information. He had no idea why he was feeling so exhausted. He’d gone to bed at a reasonable hour the night before, and had managed to get away with an extra half hour in bed that morning, convincing Deaky to drive him to school in the van, rather than getting on the bus, though he’d have to catch it home later. 

He didn’t really feel like waiting for later, though. He was tired  _ now _ , and he was starting to get a headache, and didn’t really feel like waiting around to listen to another two hours of his professor moaning about something that he couldn’t process. Everything that was said just sounded like  _ noise, _ which was just getting on his nerves. He decided to cut his losses, he’d catch up tomorrow, being as quiet as he could to stuff his books into his bag, cringing as he had to squeeze past about twenty people and their pointy knees to get to the end of the aisle. He managed to slip out the door, not without almost every set of eyes in the hall on him, face flushing red as he hurried out into the hall. That had been unnecessarily embarrassing. 

He hurried to the bus stop, not really worried about classes for the rest of the day. He could have somebody from class bring him the work he’d missed, maybe for a few days if he was still feeling bad later on. He had the sinking feeling that he was coming down with something, as much as he hated to admit it. He’d managed to make it all the way through December and January without getting so much as a sniffle, despite his flatmates seemingly insisting on catching everything that was going around. He was probably well overdue to get sick. There were hundreds of things going around at school at the moment, and he could only hope that whatever this was wouldn’t be too bad. Probably just a cold, based on how he was feeling. Just a bit of a headache, and very tired, and a little bit miserable and sorry. Nothing he couldn’t fix with some sleep and a cup of tea. Maybe he could even get Deaky to make him some soup? No, come to think of it, maybe they could just order soup from somewhere instead, probably a safer option. He loved his boyfriend dearly, but he could burn water.

He made it to the bus stop in time for the 12.05, finding it alarmingly difficult to pull himself up the step. The bus moved off before he had a chance to sit down, and he managed to fall over, tipping the contents of his design folder all over the floor of the bus. Great. He was glad it was the middle of the day. There was hardly anybody on board, mainly grannies on the way to do their shopping and mothers with very young children, and none of them were jumping at the chance to lend a hand, so he did it himself, scooping his papers back into the large cardboard sleeve, taking a seat by the door.

He was lucky not to have fallen asleep on the ride home. He wasn’t sure where this bus ended up, or how to get home from there, either, and he just managed to jolt himself to alertness, one stop late, jumping up and pressing the buzzer. He had to walk a few hundred extra metres to get home as a result, which he really could have done without, dragging himself into the lobby of the building. He stared at the stairs ahead of him, shoulders falling. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to make it up, he was sure he’d fall down a few flights and split his head open if he tried. Living on the second floor meant four flights, due to the  _ stupid _ way the building was designed. The lift had been broken for two months, and the building manager seemed content with leaving it that way. He didn’t really blame him. The building should probably have been condemned as it was, it was practically falling apart, but the rent was so cheap that none of the residents complained, instead learning which stairs were too wobbly or mushy to stand on, and skipping them, and figuring out the exact spot on the front door they needed to bash to get it to open when it rained and got stuck. Environmental adaptation, Roger had said. 

Freddie didn’t have the energy to play hopscotch today, needing to give himself a moment to catch his breath, hardly believing his luck and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Brian coming up from the basement, washing basket full of clean clothes balanced on his hip, and he waved him over.

“Fred, you’re home early,” Brian commented, taking in his pale, limp appearance and not having to guess why he’d come home. Freddie just nodded, leaning against the wall, no, not that part, there was a crack in the plaster he might fall through, taking a step to the side to find a solid section.   


“Don’t think I can get up the stairs. Think I’m coming down with something,” he said softly, shutting his eyes. Brian winced sympathetically, reaching out to rest a hand on his forehead, detecting a hint of a fever.

“Yep, think so. Come on,” he put his washing down on the floor near the bottom of the stairs,  _ fairly  _ confident that nobody would want to steal a basket of worn underwear, - but in that part of the city, he couldn't be completely sure - sliding his arm around Freddie’s chest, holding him upright. Freddie leaned heavily on him, letting Brian do most of the work in guiding him up the stairs, practically dragging him, a little out of breath.   


“Fred, you need to lift your feet,” he puffed, hauling him up onto the landing at the top of the third flight of stairs. Freddie looked up, glaring at the next flight, shaking his head decisively.   


“Just leave me here,” he grumbled, “I’ll have a little sleep and meet you at the top.” Brian rolled his eyes, heaving him upright.   


“You’re being ridiculous. Come on, it’s one more set then were home,” he coaxed, starting up the stairs whether Freddie was ready or not. He managed to somehow find the strength to stumble his way up, thanking his lucky stars that Brian had been downstairs, he was doing a very good job of catching him when he tripped, and he didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he’d attempted them himself. They finally made it to the front door, somehow, Brian pushing it open and guiding Freddie inside. He sat him down at the dining table on the first chair they passed, getting a good look at him.    


“You look awful,” he commented, folding his arms over his chest. Freddie shook his head, letting out a sigh and trying to pull himself up from the table to go to bed. He didn’t particularly feel like sitting there and having his appearance scrutinised.

“Deaks!” Brian called, loudly enough that Freddie had to cover his ears, sitting back down hard. 

“Yeah?” came a voice from across the flat, before a bit of shuffling, and some footsteps.

“What is- Freddie,” John’s face lit up a bit when he saw that his boyfriend was home from school early, but fell again when he realised how awful he looked.

“Oh. What’s wrong?” he asked, face twisting into a frown, getting cautiously closer to him.   


“I’m coming down with something I think,” he sighed, sparing him a small smile.   


“It’s alright, you don’t have to be near me,” he added, knowing how he got when people around him were sick. It was then that John did something very brave, and very surprising, and stepped forward to pull him into a hug. Freddie rested his face against his soft belly, letting out a relieved sigh. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t have to be near him, but he was very, very glad that he hadn’t run away. Brian left to go and get his washing, figuring that John probably had it under control for now. He did, sort of. Because of his aversion to - phobia of - all sorts of illness, he really didn’t have any experience under his belt in taking care of anybody, but Freddie had taken such good care of him when he’d been sick with measles not too long ago, and he was sure he could remember what he’d done to make him feel better.

“You need to be in bed,” he said decisively, and Freddie nodded, looking positively miserable.    


“Come on,” he grunted, heaving him upright, wincing at the way he swayed on his feet.   


“God, you alright?” he asked, helping him across the flat into their bedroom. He shook his head, collapsing onto the bed, toeing off his shoes.   


“You look awful,” he hummed, helping him off with his jeans, and then his shirt.

“You didn’t seem ill when you left this morning,” he added, sounding a bit terrified for him. He realised how little he knew about what he was supposed to do, wondering if he should let him sleep in his underwear, or if he needed to put on pyjamas.

“Didn’t feel ill then either,” he commented, pulling the covers over himself and curling onto his side. Okay, no pyjamas then. He perched on the edge of the bed, hands hovering over him for a minute, mind going completely blank.

“Um,” he mumbled, fingers twitching, before settling his hand on his forehead.

“Fever,” he whispered, and Freddie opened his eyes again.   


“You don’t need to do anything love. Come and lie down with me,” he yawned. John nodded, almost 100% sure he should be doing something else to help him, but when he couldn’t think of what, he just curled up on the other side of him, carefully wrapping an arm around his body.

“Rehearsal,” John breathed, remembering they’d booked a time to practise at 4:30. They  _ really _ needed to fit it in, too, they wouldn’t have another chance for the rest of the week with Brian taking on a new tutoring student, and he cursed.   


“I’ll be fine,” Freddie mumbled, rolling over to face him, burying his face in John’s chest.   


“I’ll make it. Just let me sleep.”

“Alright… well, we’ll see,” he soothed. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to  _ want _ to make it to rehearsal, maybe just Roger and Brian could go, but that wouldn’t be very productive. They  could  _ technically  _ practise in the flat, except Roger, the neighbours would kill them, so that was no use either. They’d figure it out when it got to that point, Freddie looking too exhausted to even speak, and he relaxed into the bed, setting himself an alarm for two hours time, deciding he might as well use the time as an excuse to take a nap with Freddie.

 

They never did make it to rehearsal. John had woken with his alarm, just before three, looking over to the sleeping figure beside him. He looked worse than when he’d fallen asleep, and John was worried he’d died in his sleep for a second, before reaching out to touch his arm, finding he was still very warm. Much warmer than when he’d felt his forehead before, which was concerning. He did his best to be quiet, keeping his movements slow and silent, so he wouldn’t wake him. He didn’t have the heart to, he knew he’d probably be upset with him about rehearsal, but he could argue with him later. He’d take the heat, he didn’t care. He really just wanted him to sleep this thing off, for his body to fight it before he got too sick. Maybe he could fight it off before it actually turned into whatever it was supposed to be, and he’d spend tomorrow in bed recovering, and be right as rain. He didn’t think he’d get that lucky, he never was, but he could hope. He didn’t believe in god, but he was silently praying to whoever would listen, that whatever this was wouldn’t involve him throwing up. He loved Freddie dearly, and desperately wanted to be able to take care of him, no matter what, but he was positive that he couldn’t handle being around if it happened. He gave himself a little pep talk then, feeling guilty with himself for pre-planning how he was going to run away if he did throw up, convincing himself that it probably wouldn’t happen anyway, and if it did, he’d just have to grow some balls and deal with it. Freddie had taken the  _ whole week _ off school when  _ he’d _ had the measles to nurse him back to health, he  _ couldn’t _ run away from him now. He realised he was working himself up into a bit of a panic over it,- he  _ needed  _ to stop doing that - taking a very deep breath to try to calm himself down, shaking his hands out. He got up off the bed as slowly and smoothly as he could, knowing if Freddie woke up now, he was definitely going to drag himself to rehearsal, and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do to stop him.

He didn’t need to worry though, Freddie was so tired he could have slept through just about anything. Even when John tripped over a stray shoe and crashed into the desk, sending books toppling, all Freddie did was moan, suck in a deep breath, and roll over, pulling the covers with him. He smiled a bit, he did look rather cute like this, and he couldn’t resist hopping back over to him to kiss his forehead, before letting himself out into the living room. Brian was still busy with his washing, folding it and stacking it on the coffee table, and Roger was back from uni now too, noisily eating a packet of crisps and annoying Brian as much as possible.   


“So wait wait the sun… is a planet?” he asked, turning and giving John the cheekiest grin he’d ever seen.

“Roger you know it’s not,” Brian sighed, not giving him the satisfaction, knowing his game by now.   


“No, no come on, I can get this… um…” he screwed up his face in ‘concentration’, and Brian sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s grade two stuff, Rog, you’re not stupid, stop pretending you are,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you're very clever, and you and I both know it, you're just trying to piss me off.” he sighed, catching John out of the corner of his eye.   


“Hey, Deaks. How’s Freddie?” he asked, smiling when he saw him looking a bit lopsided from his nap.   


“He’s alright. Sleepy. Don’t think rehearsal is a good idea today,” he said, going to sit down on the sofa beside theirs. He needed to keep busy to distract his mind, thoughts whirling around his head, of Freddie getting horribly ill and throwing up in the bed and making him clean up, or getting so sick he'd have to to go to hospital, and it was all too much. He was starting to think he needed to see somebody for his anxiety, maybe. No, not now, Deaks, another time.   


“You okay?” Brian asked, frowning. He just nodded over at him, trying to look confident.

“If you can’t handle it it’s alright, we can help,” he said. John knew exactly what he was getting at, and he shook his head. He couldn’t do that. Freddie was going to need him, and he wasn’t about to leave him alone. He’d find a way to handle it.

“I’ll be fine. He’s alright, he doesn’t seem too bad really,” he was trying to convince himself more than anything, trying to focus on the TV.

“So we’re not going to rehearsal?” Roger asked, sounding a bit bummed, pouting.   


“No, Fred’s not feeling well, and someone’s got to be home with him, don’t think it'll be much use with just two of us,” Brian explained. Roger frowned, folding his arms.   


“That’s bullshit. You two can practise any time you want, I’ve got to wait all week or use a fucking practise pad,” he sulked, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry Rog, we’ll reschedule,” Brian promised, feeling quite sympathetic to his boyfriend’s problem, despite how sulky he was being. He was right, all three of them could practise whenever they wanted, pretty much anywhere, but he’d only set up his drums at home once, and that was the first and last time after the neighbours practically came after him with pitchforks.   


“That’s not fair!”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to go down and practise by yourself,” Brian said, folding his arms, not in the mood for one of his famous tantrums.   


“Fuck you guys. I’m going for a walk,” he grumbled, grabbing his coat and his smokes, storming out the door. Brian sighed, folding his arms and sitting still for a second, before jumping up off the sofa.

“Fuck,” he sighed, grabbing his coat, “fucking idiot.” He followed him out the door, afraid of what might have happened if he didn’t. John watched him leave, and he felt suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety, jumping off the sofa when he heard movement from his bedroom. Oh no, Freddie was awake, and he was going to run across the living room to be sick, or collapse and hit his head, he was sure of it. He did neither of those things, swinging the door open and looking around, eyes settling on John with a bit of a smile, all wrapped up in a soft dressing gown. 

“Wondering where you'd got to…” he slumped on the sofa next to him, resting his head on his shoulder. That was okay. It was  _ Freddie _ , for gods sake. Freddie knew all his little worries and idiosyncrasies, he wasn't going to do anything to upset him. But he had the irrational fear that he wasn't telling him he was nauseous, or he wouldn't know, and he was going to suddenly throw up all over him without any warning. It was thoughts like that that had stopped him from buying any popcorn or drinks the first time they'd been to the movies together, in case one of them spontaneously felt ill as a result, somehow, not wanting to ruin the night. He'd had to ‘come out’ to him after that, and explained what the problem was, and Freddie had promised that if he ever felt ill like that he'd be as far away from him as possible. He hoped he remembered his promise.

“Where have the others gone?” he asked quietly, shutting his eyes and practically sinking into John’s side.

“Roger stormed off because he’s cross about rehearsal,” John sighed, wrapping an arm around Freddie. He was shaking, which meant his fever had probably climbed another couple of degrees.   


“What about rehearsal?” Freddie asked, clearing his throat. It was starting to sound a bit rough, and feel that way, too.

“Well, we’re not going, are we?” John asked, seeing Freddie sit up and stare at him.   


“Well why not?” he scoffed, folding his arms.   


“Because you’re ill?” John tried, wincing when he heard the tone, and hoarseness, of his voice.

“Oh shush. I’m fine,” he huffed, sitting forward. Truth be told, he was  _ not _ fine, but he wasn’t about to make everybody miss rehearsal on account of him. The second he’d woken up, he’d noticed his throat was absolutely killing him, and he was feeling cold now instead of hot, which wasn’t a good sign when he was still sweating, but he could definitely make rehearsals, even if he didn’t do much, so that the others could still practise. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You look terrible,” John started, “and your throat sounds like you’ve been gargling nails. I don’t think singing is going to be good for you right now.”

“Then I won’t sing. You can all practise, and I’ll watch, or go through some piano parts,” he insisted. John knew there was no point arguing. When Freddie Mercury wanted to do something, you’d better believe he was going to do it.

“Alright, well, you get dressed, I’ll go find Rog and Brian,” John sighed, getting up off the sofa and throwing his coat on to go and search the streets for the pair. 


	2. Brave

There was no need to look, actually, as soon as he was standing up, the front door swung open, and Brian walked in, a limping, very cross looking Roger in tow. John looked Roger up and down, red in the face, looking maybe like he’d been crying, but mostly very angry, jeans torn through at the knees, blood soaking into his socks.

“Oh my god! What happened?” he gasped. Brian shook his head, exasperated.   


“He tripped over the curb trying to run away from me,” Brian sighed.

“I wouldn’t have had to run if you hadn’t been fucking chasing me like a maniac!” Roger spat back at him, limping over to a chair at the dining table and rolling his jeans up to get a look at the damage. Freddie was looking on curiously now, face drawing into a frown when he saw how mangled his knees looked.

“I wasn’t chasing you. I was trying to catch up with you. He only made it out the door and across the road before he went arse over,” Brian said calmly, going into the bathroom.

“I didn’t want you following me, and you sped up when I did, so that makes it chasing!” he yelled, grabbing a handful of tissues and holding them over the wounds.   


“Really did a number on them Rog,” John said, frowning, a little disgusted, “how fast were you running?”

“Lucky it wasn’t your head,” Brian added, coming out of the bathroom with a bottle of antiseptic and a towel, as well as two large plasters.

“It’s my hands too,” Roger said, going a bit soft and whiny when he realised he was getting attention and sympathy, holding out his hands to show them all his scraped palms.

“You are a child,” Brian sighed, filling a mixing bowl with warm water and antiseptic, dunking the towel in.

“That’s my cake bowl,” Freddie commented quietly, deciding it wasn’t worth the fight, turning on his heel to go and get dressed.

“I am not! I don’t want that stuff it stings!” he protested, pushing Brian’s hands away.   


“Case in point,” Brian muttered, dodging his hands and pressing the towel to his knee, earning a sharp whine from Roger. John rolled his eyes.   


“You two, honestly,” he sighed.   


“What did I do? Roger, stop moving it’s only going to hurt more,” Brian scolded, dabbing at the scrapes, relieved to see they weren’t as bad as he thought once he’d cleared the blood away.

“Nothing,” John sighed, sitting down beside Roger, “honestly, you do need to hold still.”

Roger folded his arms, quickly having them unfolded by Brian as he pulled his hand out to clean his palm.   


“Ow ow! Fuck! Stop!” Roger whined, trying to yank it away, but Brian had a much stronger grip than he did.

“You’re a baby,” he sighed, cleaning both palms. Roger didn’t stop whining until there were plasters on both his knees and Brian gave him a cuddle, apologising for ‘chasing’ him.

“Come on children, time to rehearse,” Freddie appeared in the doorway, dressed but wobbly on his feet. He looked awful, and Brian raised his eyebrows at him.   


“Are you sure you're alright to go?” Brian asked, eyeing him. He nodded, trying to look confident, but he looked like death warmed over.   


“Yep. Come on,” he said, swallowing with a wince. Even Roger noticed, frowning.

“You do look like shit,” he said. Freddie rolled his eyes, shrugging on his coat. None of them missed the wince every time he swallowed, or how pale he looked, or the fact that he was practically walking sideways. John got on one side of him, holding him upright. He was far too warm, and was leaning on him far too much. He wasn’t sure he’d make it downstairs, let alone through rehearsals.   


“Alright then, come on,” John sighed, watching him wobble, gripping him a little tighter. Brian and Roger got their shoes on, Roger was back to whining about his knees, and Freddie seemed to pale suddenly.   


“I’ll er... “ he didn’t get to finish his sentence, turning and rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. John froze, heart racing, feeling his chest swell with panic when he heard him retch. Brian looked to John, then the bathroom door.   


“I’ll see if he’s alright,” he assured John with a steady voice and a squeeze on the shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom after him. John couldn’t think straight. He  _ knew _ he should be in there, taking care of him, but he felt like he was rooted to the floor. Roger eyed him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Deaks, you okay?” he asked, voice lowered, “you want to go for a walk?”

John shook his head, turning his head to look at the bathroom door. He  _ couldn’t _ go in there, he thought he’d burst into flames if he even thought about it, but he felt horrible for not being able to help his boyfriend the way he’d helped him when he was ill.

“I… I’ll go um, set up the thing,” he mumbled, practically sprinting into his bedroom, slamming the door. He made the bed first, changing the linens. He figured that he wouldn’t want to lay around in his own germs, and if John was going to sleep with him, he didn’t want to either. He wondered if there was anything else he should do to make the room nice for him, drawing the curtains and turning on the lamp, angling it down towards the desk so that the room was only cast with dim light. Freddie had been asking him to put up some fairy lights he’d picked up at Christmas for ages, actually, and he’d been putting it off out of pure laziness. He decided this would be the perfect opportunity, and maybe even score him a few points for later, even though that wasn’t what he was worried about.

He climbed onto the bed, a string of warm white lights and some drawing pins, tacking them up around the cornice above the bed, reaching up as high as he could, trying his best to make them look nice. He draped them around his tapestries and artworks, he wasn’t very artsy, but he figured it looked okay. He plugged them in, they lit up the room nicely, and he turned the lamp off. They twinkled slowly, and illuminated the room in a warm, soft light. John thought it looked quite beautiful, really, and he hoped Freddie would think so too.

He jumped a bit when he heard the door open, and saw Brian slowly guiding Freddie into the room. He stood out of the way, wondering if he’d even notice he was there, feeling a sudden surge of courage as Brian sat him down on the bed.

“I’ve got it now, Bri,” he said quietly. Brian looked surprised, but didn’t argue, nodding once.   


“Sure? Alright, let me know if you need a hand,” he said softly, taking a second to take in the lights, shooting him a knowing smile and squeezing his shoulder before he left.

John helped Freddie lie down. He was slow, and weak, and his eyes seemed glassy and distant, something John had never seen before.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie whispered, blinking at him tiredly.   


“For what?” John frowned, tucking him in, making sure he was comfortable.   


“For getting sick, I didn’t know I was going to and I know that you can’t handle it… if I’d have known-”

“Shh,” John hushed him, heart wrenching when he started to apologise for being sick, “I know, it was an accident.”

“Oh, still. I’m sorry,” he croaked, laying back and looking at the ceiling, before his eyes drifted to the wall behind him, eyes settling on John’s surprise, and his face lit up brighter than the lights.   


“Oh you’ve done it,” he breathed, taking a moment to admire his work before his eyes settled back on John, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, eyes full of admiration and love.   


“You should have done it sooner,” he said suddenly, and John grinned.   


“I know. Sorry,” he smiled, feeling brave enough to peck him on the forehead. He was burning up, and a little bit sweaty, but his mouth smelt of mint, and there was no sign that he’d been sick.   


“You don’t have to hang around me sweetheart, I’ll be alright,” he said, reaching out to take his hand. John shook his head, perching on the edge of the bed.   


“No, I’ll be fine, promise,” he whispered, sounding only a little bit unsure. He settled down in the bed a little bit, watching Freddie’s eyes twinkle along with the lights. He looked so beautiful, ill or not, and he reached out to card his hand through his hair. Freddie tilted his head down, blinking at him, a soft smile lighting his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. Freddie's face lit up, loving nothing more than to hear that he was loved, especially when he wasn’t feeling good, and he rolled onto his side to gaze at John, the slightest hint of a blush dusting his cheekbones.   


“So are you,” he croaked, head lolling on his pillow tiredly as he reached out a hand to touch him.   


“You need to go to sleep,” he soothed, gently running his hand over the back of his neck. Freddie let out a little sigh. It was cold, and felt lovely against his warm skin, and he shut his eyes.

“You’re going to stay?” Freddie asked, sounding a bit surprised. He’d done his best to clean up after he was sick, with Brian’s help, but he still expected him to be wary. John nodded bravely, and Freddie reached out to rest a hand on his chest. He could feel his heart thumping, fast and heavy in his chest, and frowned.   


“You really don’t need to, I’ll be alright,” he assured him. John took his hand, giving it a squeeze and tucking it back under the covers.   


“I’m staying. Shh. Go to sleep,” he urged, kissing his temple lightly. Freddie smiled, shutting his eyes and settling down into bed.

“I love you,” Freddie said tiredly, cautiously wriggling a little bit closer to him. John smiled and rolled his eyes, slinging his arm over his chest.   


“I love you too. Now go to sleep,” he smiled. Freddie nodded, relaxing when he felt John holding him, very, very glad that he’d decided to stay with him.

Freddie didn’t wake up for dinner. John doubted he’d be very hungry anyway, and he left him cautiously, giving him a kiss on the cheek. It was past seven, and neither Brian nor Roger had even thought about dinner yet. Brian was apparently very busy with school work, and Roger was happy to much on peanuts and hang the shells from Brian’s hair when he thought he wasn’t paying attention.    


“I know what you’re doing,” he said disinterestedly, not looking up from his book, shaking his head, sending peanut shells flying across the room. Roger pouted, folding his arms.   


“I was going for a record!” he complained, sitting back and lifting his legs onto the sofa with a groan, stretching them out and running a thumb over a plaster on his knee with a pout.   


“Still sore?” Brian asked, shuffling back a little so that he could rest his feet in his lap before leaning back over the coffee table.

“ _ Yes, they still hurt, Brian, _ ” he scoffed. Brian squeezed his calf gently, and Roger threw back his head with a whine.   


“You’re soooo boring!” he complained, flexing his feet and lifting his leg, trying to get his toe up his nose. Brian slapped his ankle away, pushing his feet off his lap. They hit the floor with a loud thud, and he let out an over-dramatic yell.   


“Shush! Freddie’s asleep!” he reminded him, scooting forward on the sofa again so he couldn’t put his feet back, turning the page in his book. Roger huffed, resting his feet on Brian’s back instead. He sighed.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know. There’s other things to do,” he reminded him.   


“It’s Friday night! I want to go out, have a dance, have some drinks, do something  _ fun _ ! I’m stuck here watching my drip of a boyfriend do homework he’s not even been assigned yet, just to get a  _ head start _ ,” he moaned. Brian sat up, pushing his feet off.   


“Don’t be a dick,” Brian sighed, trying to ignore his comment. It had hurt a little bit, but he tried not to let on.

“I’m not, I’m just  _ so bored _ .” he complained, trying a different tactic, turning around to lay his head in his lap, batting his stupidly long eyelashes at him. Brian sighed, closing his book. He wasn’t going to win, and he knew it.   


“What do you want to do?” he sighed, dropping his hand onto his chest. Roger’s face grew into a huge smile, and he sat up.   


“Let’s go out!” he beamed, already up and looking for his pink trainers. Brian sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t really want to go out, but his boyfriend was basically a puppy, and if he didn’t get walked he’d get destructive.   


“Alright, fine, but home by one. I’ve got a student in the morning,” he sighed. Roger grinned cheekily, nodding his head.   


“Mmhm! Yes, sure, fine,” he agreed, changing into one of his favourite outfits, shrugging on his fur coat and lacing his trainers. John had heard almost the entire conversation, carefully shutting the door to his bedroom to try not to make too much noise.   


“Try to be quiet when you come in,” John piped up, and Roger snapped his head around.   


“Oh! Deaks, we’re going out, you want to come?” he grinned, practically forcing Brian’s coat on to get him out of the house faster.   


“No, I’ve got to stay with Freddie,” he said. Brian stopped dead, grabbing Roger’s hand.   


“Rog, maybe we should stay in, I don’t want to…” he didn’t finish his thought, but John immediately knew what he was going to say. Roger’s face fell into a frown, and he stamped his foot.   


“Oh! No no, it’s alright. I’ll be okay. You have fun,” he said, giving them his most convincing smile.   


“Are you sure?” Brian asked, almost sounding a little disappointed. He’d thought it might be a good excuse to stay home. 

“He said it’s fine! Come on,” Roger pleaded, literally dragging him by the hand towards the door. John looked at the clock, and back to the pair, giving them a funny look.

“It’s barely seven, what’s going to be going on at this hour?” he asked.   


“Doesn’t matter, pub’s serving beer aren’t they? Come onnnn,” he groaned, and with a wave from Brian, Roger had him out the door and down the stairs.

John shook his head, smiling and rummaging in the fridge. Something in there smelt  _ really _ bad, so he decided he’d better clean the fridge out. He really didn’t want any of them to risk eating something bad, Freddie being sick was bad enough. It took him about twenty minutes, and he didn’t find a single thing that he wanted to eat for dinner. He wasn’t very hungry, he suspected it had something to do with stress, but he knew he should try to eat. He could go days without eating if he let himself, he just got busy and absorbed into whatever he was doing and not realise why he was feeling so weak and shaky, and Freddie scolded him for it constantly. He settled for a cheese sandwich, he wanted to toast it but he was very conscious that Freddie was just in the other room, feeling very sick, and he didn’t want the smell to trigger anything.

He settled down in the living room, in front of the TV. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting on, and he felt a little bit lonely. He flicked through the channels, settling on a movie he hadn’t seen before, managing half his sandwich before getting distracted. Brian and Roger had left peanut shells all over the carpet, which was a bit annoying. He wanted to hoover, but it would definitely wake Freddie up, so he got down on his hands and knees instead, picking each one up individually, scooping them into the bin. He realised he might be going a bit mad, deciding he’d run the bin bag full of fridge food downstairs to the dumpster, and that would be enough cleaning up for a Friday night. 

It was freezing outside, and he’d forgotten his coat, regretting it as soon as he stepped out into the cold, throwing the bag into the dumpster and jogging up the stairs to warm himself back up. He grabbed the doorknob. It didn’t budge. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It  _ didn’t budge. _ Shit. The deadlock had locked, it did that sometimes, and his keys were inside.  _ His keys were inside. _ His heart rose to his throat, and he had a little panic. What was he going to do? He couldn’t sit out here all night, he’d freeze to death, and he didn’t know his neighbours well enough to go knocking on doors for refuge. Wait. Freddie was inside,  _ duh _ , he was just asleep. He'd feel guilty if he woke him, though, he was so ill and had been in such a deep sleep he wasn’t sure he  _ could _ wake him. He considered going to the pub down the road, their regular, to see if Brian or Roger had gone there and get a set of keys off them. No, that was stupid, he didn’t have a coat, and Freddie was just inside. He could go right back to sleep once he let him in, even if he might have a laugh at him, and everything would be fine. He took a breath, banging on the door a few times. He didn’t hear anything, so he banged again, and then again. And then he heard a pitiful voice from inside calling 

“Deeeeaaks, the doooor,” and he winced.   


“It’s me, Fred! Locked myself out!” he called, pressing himself up against the door, trying not to be  _ too _ loud, and he heard slow footsteps, and Freddie messing with the door knob. It swung open, revealing Freddie, looking ridiculously,  _ adorably _ sleepy, squinting at him. He gave him a sheepish look, and the corners of Freddie’s mouth turned up as he shook his head.   


“You’re a tart. Get inside, you’ll freeze,” he croaked, voice almost failing in the middle of his sentence. John stepped inside, giving him an apologetic look. Freddie just shook his head fondly, flopping onto the sofa, face first.

“What were you doing outside?” he asked, voice muffled by the couch cushions, turning his head so he could breathe.   


“Taking the bins down,” he said, shrugging, feeling very guilty for getting Freddie up.

“Mm, I’m sure that was  _ completely _ necessary,” he sighed, squinting at the TV.   


“What are you watching?”

“Dunno, honestly, I think it’s about halfway done and I haven’t caught the plot yet,” he said. Freddie groaned, rolling onto his back.   


“You’re  _ supposed _ to keep up with these things for me, darling,” he sighed, and John smiled and sat by his feet.   


“Where’ve the others got to?” he rasped, deciding that that was enough talking for now, grabbing a throw pillow to wedge under his head.

“Out, Roger wanted to have a drink and he wasn’t going to let Brian rest until he did,” he smiled. Freddie pouted at that, folding his arms.

“And they didn’t invite me,” he grumbled. John smiled, fluffing his hair affectionately.

“How do you feel?” he asked, resting his hand on his forehead. He shook his head, not having much voice left, hoping he could get by with some rudimentary sign language for the rest of the night.   


“Bad? Hm, you still feel warm, do you want something to eat?” he asked carefully. Freddie just shook his head again.   


“Can’t talk?”

Another head shake.   


“Bugger. That’s alright,” he sighed, grabbing Brian’s exercise book and a ballpoint, handing it to him.   


“Just in case you need to tell me anything, alright,” he said, and Freddie smiled up and him, writing down ‘ _ clever boy’ _ . That made John blush a bit, and he ran his fingers over his scalp.   


“I’ll get your blankets, alright? Won’t be a second.”

Freddie nodded and followed him with his eyes, feeling very spoiled when John fluffed his pillows for him and tucked the blankets up around his shoulders. He was really only copying what Freddie had done for him when he was ill, but it had been very nice when he had, so he decided it was the right thing to do. Freddie held up the notepad, where he had drawn a love heart over both pages, smiling. John just settled down beside him, lifting his feet into his lap.

“Do you want anything?” he asked. Freddie paused for a moment, scribbling something down and flashing him the pad.   


“Medicine,” he read aloud, before he realised what it actually meant.   


“Oh! Shit, of course,” he could feel himself blushing from embarrassment, how the  _ hell _ could he forget something so simple, and so essential. He got up, and Freddie grabbed his arm. He turned back around, to see him writing something else down, and he craned his neck to read it, smiling a bit when he saw what it said.   


“And your hairbrush, sure love,” he smiled, going into the bathroom. He hadn’t been in there since Freddie had been sick, but it smelled strongly of bleach, which calmed him down a bit, and he searched the mirror cabinet. Panadol was a good start, some strepsils too, the strawberry ones that were left over from when he’d been ill. He eyed the cough medicine, but he hadn’t really been coughing. He wondered if that was enough, grabbing his hairbrush and a glass of water, and the thermometer as an afterthought, running it under the hot tap for a bit. He was already sick, he didn’t want him to catch whatever the last person that had used it was sick with.

Freddie was almost asleep again when he went back to the sofa, and he tapped his arm gently.   


“You have to take medicine love,” he said, sitting back down on the very edge of the sofa, near Freddie’s belly, slipping the thermometer in his mouth before he had time to protest. He whined softly, and he smiled, holding it in place with the end of his finger.

“Shh,” he soothed. He didn’t look very pleased about it, but his eyes were almost sort of proud, and the way he looked at John gave him butterflies.

“How do I know when it’s done?” he asked, and Freddie held up two slender fingers. The polish on his nails was chipping, he might see if he could do them for him later, that might cheer him up a bit.   


“Two minutes?”

Freddie nodded, and he watched the clock patiently, waiting just a bit over two minutes to account for the hot water, slipping it out of his mouth. He squinted to read it, though he wasn’t actually 100% sure what the normal range was.

“Thirty-nine, is that not good?” he asked. Freddie shook his head, grabbing the packet of panadol right away and downing two. He was glad he was happy to take his medicine, he knew he couldn’t force Freddie to do a single thing if he wasn’t on board too.

“Got some strepsils, too,” he smiled, holding them up. He watched Freddie swallow his pills and wince, hand flying to his throat.

“Oh! Shit, are you choking?” he asked, sitting upright and reaching out to pat him on the back. He shook his head quickly, rubbing his throat miserably.   


“Just feeling sore?”

He nodded again, sinking back into the sofa and sucking on a strepsil. He made a face. He didn’t like the strawberry ones very much, but his throat was so sore he didn’t care.

“Want me to put something else on the telly?” he offered, and Freddie nodded, sitting himself up, blankets around his shoulders. He flicked through the channels, eyes on Freddie, eventually getting a nod when they landed on a music programme, and he sat back up on the couch. Freddie handed him his hairbrush with a little pout.   


“Want me to brush your hair hm?” he smiled. Freddie nodded, and he took it obediently, standing behind the couch, gently running the brush through his hair. It was a bit tangled and knotty from sleeping, and he was as gentle as possible, working away slowly but surely until it was knot free and silky. He stopped once it was neat, and Freddie turned around with a pout, grabbing the hand holding the brush, moving it back up to his head.

“Want me to keep going do you?” he asked, smiling when he nodded softly, turning his head back to face the TV. He sighed, running the brush through his hair obediently.

“Tell me when to stop,” he said softly, being gentle and slow, hoping it felt nice. By the way Freddie was slipping down the sofa, he was quite sure it did, and he soon heard little snores coming from him. He smiled, before letting out a quiet sigh. He knew he shouldn’t let him sleep on the sofa, he’d get a sore back, and he gently squeezed his shoulder. Freddie opened one eye, peering around, shutting it again when he saw it was only John.   


“Come to bed and I’ll give you a cuddle,” he said, running his hand through his now very fluffy hair. Freddie sighed, letting his head drop down for a second before pulling himself to his feet.

“You drive a hard bargain, Deacon,” he croaked, shuffling to bed. John followed him, smiling when he saw the fairy lights were still on, and he helped Freddie get comfortable.

“Do you need anything before bed?” he asked softly. Freddie shook his head, holding his hand out desperately, whining a bit. He smiled.   


“Alright, alright hang on,” he soothed, putting on some pyjama pants, deciding his jumper was comfortable enough to sleep in, slipping under the covers. Freddie moved around so he could rest his head on John’s chest, and he looked up at him adoringly.

“Proud of you,” he whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek, running the backs of his fingers along his jaw.   


“What do you mean?” he smiled, blushing a bit at the praise, not feeling that he’d really deserved it.   


“Just… proud of you. Love you,” he breathed. John pressed a kiss to the top of his head, gently massaging his scalp.   


“Love you too,” he smiled, settling with his arms around him. He fell asleep quicker than usual. Normally he’d lie awake for a bit, tracing patterns on John’s chest, talking to him about the universe, but tonight he was completely exhausted, snoring within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma be starting on Brian's in the next couple days  
> sorry freddie's is shorter hes rlly hard to write but hope u enjoyed anyway  
> love ya <3


	3. Early

John woke up to a distressed sounding moan, and his first instinct was to pull the pillows over his head and go back to sleep. He was used to Roger being noisy when he came home drunk, and he was a bit annoyed that Brian wasn’t keeping him quiet. He’d hoped he’d at least be a little bit responsible, and the red digits on his alarm clock said 3:34, definitely irresponsible, Brian had promised before one. Then, he realised he could hear Roger snoring through the wall, and he heard the noise again, almost like a howl, and he realised it was coming from beside him. He sat up carefully, not wanting to jostle Freddie too much, frowning down at him. His face was twisted into an awful grimace, and he was tossing and turning, periodically letting out louder and louder howls.

“Freddie,” he whispered, wondering if he was supposed to wake him up. He was clearly having a nightmare, and he didn’t remember the protocol, whether to wake somebody up or let them sleep through it. He didn’t want to hurt him if he woke him up prematurely, but he hated to see him looking like he was in so much pain. Freddie moaned again, legs kicking wildly, and John panicked for a second he was having a seizure, but he didn’t seem to be shaking like he’d seen in movies. He realised then that maybe he shouldn’t take his medical advice from movies, but he didn’t have anything else to go off. He couldn’t stand seeing him looking so frightened, and decided he’d better try to wake him up.   


“Freddie?” he reached out his hand, and the second he touched him, Freddie took in a huge breath, jumping away from him and hitting the wall with a thud. John winced, reaching out a hand before stuttering, not wanting to scare him by touching him again.

“Shit, sorry, love, sorry,” John cursed, hoping he hadn’t hit his head. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light properly yet, and he plugged the lights back in, hoping they wouldn’t startle him. Freddie still seemed to be panicking a bit, he hoped being able to see his surroundings would help.   


“Fred, it’s me love,” he said softly, sitting as still as he could. Freddie’s wide, fearful eyes settled on him, and as soon as he seemed to recognise where he was, he burst into tears.

“Oh, oh gosh um,” John stuttered. He was  _ terrible _ when people were crying, he never knew what he was supposed to do, if he was supposed to say something, or touch him or leave him alone. He didn’t even know what to do with himself when  _ he _ was crying, so he was hopeless with Freddie. Freddie decided for him, collapsing against his chest and clinging onto him for dear life. Thank god, he thought, at least he could do  _ something. _   


“Oh. It’s alright,” John hushed, wrapping his arms around him, gently rubbing his back. He wasn’t sure if it was actually doing anything to calm him down, it was probably more comforting to John if anything. Freddie sobbed into his chest, fists clutching his jumper at the back, tugging it down so his collar strangled him a bit, but he didn’t stop him.   


“Darling, what’s happened?” he soothed, smoothing down his hair and kissing the top of his head, feeling a terrible heat radiating from him.   


“Oh, it was horrible,” he whispered, voice barely there, “they were taking you and… they tried to take me too,” he wasn’t making a lot of sense, but John nodded and hummed along anyway.

“And I couldn’t find you and-and they had Bri and Rog too, and I was all alone,” he sobbed, gasping for air.   


“Hey, hey it’s alright love, breathe,” he hushed, deepening the hug, doing his best to ground him. It wasn’t really working, and he fell back into a fit of sobbing, gasping into John’s chest, and he could feel his jumper becoming wet through with tears.   


“My darling, you’re not alone. I’m here, we’re all here,” John sighed, resting the backs of his fingers against his cheek, the only exposed bit of skin he could access, wincing.   


“Oh, hot,” he gasped, and Freddie leaned into it a bit, seeming to almost calm down at his touch.

“That nice?” he asked, smiling a little at the look on Freddie’s face. His cheeks were still tear stained, but his expression had dropped, and his lips parted in a little sigh as John moved his other hand up to rest against his forehead. He nodded, exposing more of his face so that John could cool him down with his hands.

It was after a moment of silence and calm that John noticed a horrible smell in the room. It was a very distinctive smell, and he looked down at the bed, hoping his suspicions would be wrong. He grimaced when he realised that the sheets were definitely wet. By the grace of god none had gotten on him, but poor Freddie was soaked and couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He didn’t seem to have noticed, and not wanting to upset him anymore, he point it out, but he couldn’t let him go back to sleep that way, and squeezed his shoulder lightly to get his attention. 

“Fred, come on, we’ve got to get you in the bath,” he said quietly, gently shaking him to keep him awake. He didn’t want to be awake though, and he already seemed to be drifting off, head lolling about, one eye cracking open.   


“What? No, why?” he mumbled, shaking his head, sounding very confused.

“You’ve um…” he gestured to the bed, not wanting to tell him, knowing he’d be upset. It didn’t matter. Freddie realised what had happened after a moment, sucking in a little breath, before bursting into a fresh batch of tears.

“Oh my god…” was all he managed between sobs, pulling himself away from John and drawing his knees to his chest, curling into a little ball. John reached out to rub his back gently, doing his best to calm him down, failing miserably.   


“Freddie it’s alright,” John urged, “I’m not upset with you, it was just an accident, it’s okay.” Freddie sobbed louder, hiccuping, sounding like he was struggling to catch his breath.   


“No, no don’t cry sweetheart,” he begged, “it’s my fault, you’re ill and I-I should have asked if you had to go before you went to bed,” he urged, hoping if he took the blame it would calm him down at least a bit.   


“Yes you bloody should have!” Freddie cried, thumping his fist down onto the mattress, and John let out a breath. At least that had sort of worked. He didn’t care if he yelled at him, he just didn’t want him feeling guilty about it. Freddie sniffled miserably, looking up at him, eyes bloodshot and tearful.

“It’s still my fault I pissed the bed like a fucking two year old,” he whimpered, and John shook his head quickly, fingers running through his hair, not sure how to reassure him.   


“You’re really ill, darling, you couldn’t help it,” he hushed. That seemed to  _ somehow  _ work in calming him down, and his face went from upset to a bit disgusted.   


“Ugh… need to um… need to shower,” he rasped, voice fading from all the crying, clearing his throat.   


“Yeah, come on, I’ll help you clean up,” John did his best to smile, despite feeling a bit squeamish, and a bit hopeless when he thought about how he was supposed to clean the bed  _ and  _ get Freddie cleaned up at the same time. He was just relieved it hadn’t been vomit.

He helped Freddie into the bathroom, he cried a bit more when he saw himself in the harsher light of the bathroom, and he rubbed his back to try to calm him down.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. I’ll run you a bath,” he kept his voice low, gently pulling Freddie’s hair back into a messy ponytail with a hairband. He was sweating badly, and his cheeks were very red, he wasn’t sure whether it was from fever or embarrassment, likely a bit of both.

“I need a shower,” Freddie said, shaking his head. John tutted, but he gave him a sharp look, clearly set on a shower, and John nodded, just wanting to avoid more tears.

“Alright, a quick one, and I’ll have to get in with you. I don’t want you falling down, okay?” he said. Freddie shrugged, not seeming bothered either way, and they both jumped when they heard footsteps crossing the flat. They knew it was Brian by the sound and pace of the footfalls, and he knocked, calling out.   


“Everything alright?” he whispered. Freddie was too exhausted to respond, almost falling asleep on the spot, and John squeezed his knee to get his attention. He opened his eyes again, head wobbling worryingly as he looked up.   


“Back in a minute,” John said softly, slipping out the door to talk to Brian, hoping he’d maybe be able to help. Brian looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow.   


“Did he throw up?” he asked quickly, sounding doubtful. John shook his head, shoulders dropping as he reminded himself that it could have been much worse, and this was an easy fix. 

“No, um, don’t tell him I told you but…” he trailed off, unsure whether it would be alright to tell him. He didn’t think Freddie would be too happy about it, but he needed Brian’s help. Brian looked at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow.   


“He’s had an… he’s wet the bed,” he said quickly, voice quiet. Brian’s face went a bit red, and he drew in a quick breath, nodding awkwardly.   


“Oh… poor thing, must be really sick,” he frowned. John nodded, taking a deep breath. He figured what he was about to ask him was a true test of their friendship, and he was a bit worried he’d say no.

“Listen um, I need to get him in the shower, any chance you could have a go at changing the sheets?” he asked hopefully. Brian grimaced, before looking a bit guilty when he noticed the pleading look John was giving him. God, those eyes were worse than Roger’s.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he sighed, folding his arms before cracking a tiny smile and waving his hands, “fine, yeah, get him cleaned up and I’ll sort it.” John could have kissed him right there, but he didn’t, instead opting for a grateful smile.   


“You’re a lifesaver, honestly, thank you,” he breathed, and Brian nodded, muttering something as he turned around. He heard him talking to Roger, and then two sets of footsteps. Damn, he was hoping he wouldn’t tell Roger. He didn’t want him to tease Freddie about it, though he was sure once he got a look at him, and how unwell he looked, he wouldn’t have the heart to.

He slipped back into the bathroom, finding Freddie wobbling dangerously as he struggled with his pants, trying to kick them off.

“Careful, love. Hold on, here,” he held his hips to get him to stop moving, peeling them off, “should have waited for me.”

He got them off, deciding maybe he should rinse them, awkwardly throwing them into the bath. His shirt was a bit wet, much to Freddie’s dismay, and he peeled that off too and tossed it in with the rest, starting the shower and undressing himself. There was a bit on the side of his jumper, which he hadn’t noticed and surprisingly wasn’t too worried about, just silently taking it off and dropping it in the bottom of the bath. His other clothes were still dry, so he piled them on the floor, stepping over the lip of the bath, out of the shower stream, helping Freddie in. 

He mostly played lifeguard, holding onto him when he bent down to clean himself so he wouldn’t fall over, noting him wobbling dizzily. Freddie played with the taps, making the water a bit too cold for John’s liking, but it might help bring down his fever so he didn’t stop him. He did stop him though when he went to put his head under.   


“Don’t get your hair wet love,” he said softly, holding his shoulders, “all done?”

He seemed very out of it, nodding tiredly and reaching his arms out toward the towel rack. John turned the taps off, helping him step out onto the mat, getting him a clean towel and wrapping him up. He heard a little knock at the door, opening it a crack once he was dressed and Freddie was safely seated on the counter beside the sink, wrapped in a towel with his legs dangling, surprised to see Roger peering in, looking worried.   


“Brought him some pyjamas,” he said quietly, extending his arms, holding out a nearly folded tee shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms, and some underwear. John smiled gratefully, tiredly, nodding.   


“Thanks,” he said softly, taking them and turning back to Freddie.   


“Is he okay?” Roger asked. He was picking at his hands, looking a bit guilty, worrying that he shouldn’t have gone out if he was so sick.   


“Mm, he’ll be alright,” John promised, shutting the door, hearing a hurt little noise from Roger. Maybe he should have reassured him a bit more, but he wasn’t really his main concern. Freddie was, and he was wilting on the counter like a dying rose.

“Clean pyjamas,” he held up his arms when Freddie looked at him questioningly, and he nodded, dropping his head back down onto his chest. He made short work of getting him dressed, managing to get him to swallow down some more panadol, and half a glass of water, without much complaint, guiding him back to bed, leaving the towels on the floor and the clothes in the bottom of the bathtub for later. Brian would probably yell at him about that, but he wasn’t worried about that. He needed to get Freddie back to bed, and he hoped they’d be done cleaning up.

They were, thankfully, Roger rushing over to help guide Freddie to bed when he started leaning all his weight on John, and he saw him struggling a bit.   


“Thanks Rog,” John puffed, settling him down, thankful that the sheets were clean and dry, a bit annoyed that he’d only just changed them the day before, praying nothing else happened to his poor bed. This was their last clean set, and he needed to do a lot of washing in the morning.

“Flipped the mattress too,” Brian said softly, standing by and watching them bundle Freddie into bed. He was a bit worried it was something more sinister than just a flu, but they’d worry about that in the morning.

“It was a bit soaked,” Roger added unhelpfully, and Freddie cringed.   


“Don’t,” he begged, voice barely there, and Brian gave his arm a borderline painful squeeze.

“Ow! I wasn’t,” he sulked, being dragged off back to bed by Brian.   


“Give us a yell if you need,” he called over his shoulder, shutting the door on the way out. Freddie sank into bed, pulling the covers up over his head and rolling to face the wall.   


“That was humiliating,” he mumbled into his pillows, voice barely audible, popping back up above the covers to face John, pouting, looking at him miserably.

“Don’t stress about it love. We’ve all been there,” he soothed, stroking his hair.

“ _ I haven’t, _ ” Freddie sulked, yawning, and John winced when he got a view right down his throat, seeing it looking raw and red, with horrible yellow flecks.

“God, your throat looks horrible,” he said, successfully changing the subject when Freddie frowned, before opening his mouth wider to let John peer at his throat.

“Yuck,” he frowned, wrinkling his nose, “that’s awful.”

“I know… I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” John sighed fondly, turning the lights off and curling up around Freddie, kissing the top of his head.

“Go to sleep.”

“But what if I-”

“Don’t even think about it. Just sleep.”

“But-”

“Freddie. Shh. We’ll work it out if it does. Go to sleep.”

With that, Freddie huffed, turning on his side and shutting his eyes, taking no time at all to drift off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying so hard to write atm but its not happening i want to die :)))))  
> Imma try writing some random lil oneshots hopefully they get me back on the writing train so watch out for some trash  
> Love u <3


	4. Sunshine

“Deaks.”

Freddie’s voice. Whispering - no, sounded like he was trying to be loud, but couldn’t. Sore throat, he remembered.

“Deaky.”   


Oh. That was his name, shit. He should probably open his eyes and see what was going on. It was bright when he did, and he squinted up at him.

“Deaks wake up,” Freddie pleaded. He was looming over him, and John took a moment to focus on him. He jumped when he managed to wake up enough to make his eyes work, taking in his appearance.

“Oh, love,” he sat up, moving away from him a little bit, frowning.

“It’s horrible! Look!” Freddie insisted, peeling off his shirt, revealing an angry red red rash spread over his torso, extending most of the way down his arms and up his neck, flushing his cheeks a deep red. John was a little taken aback, taking a few moments to let his eyes drift over his body. He  _did_ look horrible, but he wasn't going to say so.

“Oh, jesus,” John frowned, running his finger tips over his cheek, “does it hurt?”

“No,” Freddie shook his head miserably, “just looks terrible.”   


“It’s alright, you don't look terrible,” John hushed, frowning and feeling his forehead.   


“Look at my tongue!” Freddie insisted, poking it out at him. It was red and bumpy, and looked a bit swollen.   


“Are you having an allergic reaction to something?” John asked quickly. Freddie shrugged miserably.   


“I’ve no idea… it looks horrid,” he complained. John rolled his eyes.   


“You look fine,” he hushed, “I think I need to call the doctor though.”

Freddie surprisingly didn’t argue, nodding his head solemnly, pulling his shirt back on.

“Alright, get yourself comfortable, I’ll see if he can make a house call.”

John left him to rest, venturing out into the kitchen, chancing a look at the clock. It was only just past 8:30, he wasn’t really sure when the surgery opened, but he hoped he’d get through. It was sort of an emergency.

He didn’t like making phone calls, but he didn’t have much choice. Thankfully, the receptionist was very kind and soft spoken, and didn't get annoyed when he stuttered, but informed him that they didn’t do house calls before 6pm, and they’d have to actually go in for an appointment. He was a bit annoyed by that, he didn’t want to get him out of bed, but agreed to a 9:30 appointment. He was scared that he was having some horrible allergic reaction, and his tongue was going to swell, but he seemed alright at the moment.

  
“Freddie?” he called, earning only a groan in response from a bundle of blankets.

“You’ve got to get up love, I’ve got you in at the doctors at 9:30,” he sat on his side of the bed. Freddie groaned, rolling to face the wall.   


"What's wrong with that?" he sighed.

“Couldn’t have made it later?” he grumbled, pulling his pillow over his head. John shook his head with a sympathetic sigh.

“I’m worried you’re having a reaction to something, love, I didn’t want to wait until you start swelling. Come on, we’ll head down there now and then you can come home and sleep as long as you like.”

Freddie seemed a bit more agreeable when he said that, stretching out and sitting himself up.

“Can I go in my pyjamas?” he asked, sounding a bit sulky. John shrugged.   


“Don’t see why not. You’ll have to have a coat though, you’ll freeze,” he said, finding him a coat, a fur he’d stolen off Roger a month ago, and some warm socks and shoes, helping him get dressed.

“Can we take the van?” he asked. John rolled his eyes.   


“I’m not going to make you get on the bus in this state. Come on,” he smiled, fishing around for Roger’s keys. He left a note, but he doubted either Brian or Roger would be up before they were back.

He managed to get him down the stairs, he tripped once, stepping on one of the wobbly stairs, and John only just managed to stop him from taking a nosedive down onto the landing.

“Careful sweetheart,” he said, grabbing him around his thin waist and holding him upright.   


“I hate this fucking building!” Freddie groaned, kicking at a step, and John hushed him, not wanting another passive aggressive note from the neighbours.   


“Freddie,” John warned, giving him a squeeze, finally getting him to the bottom of the stairs, puffing a little bit.

“Ugh. I’m tired now, sleep,” he mumbled, leaning heavily on John. He was worried for a second he was actually going to pass out on the spot, but he kept slowly moving forward toward the van, practically tumbling inside when John opened the door for him. Freddie reached up a hand to scratch at his arm, a little bit wildly, and John grabbed his hand.   


“Don’t scratch,” he scolded lightly. Freddie gave him his best glare, pulling his hand back.   


“I’m not a child I can do what I want!” he spat. John flinched a bit. Freddie  _ never _ snapped, not at him anyway, but he couldn't blame him. He was sick, and probably very uncomfortable, so he didn’t say anything, making sure all his limbs were safely inside the car before shutting the door.

The ride to the doctors was silent, John was a little bit afraid of saying anything in case he yelled again, even if it was a bit silly, but Freddie was the one person who never yelled at him, and he didn’t want to annoy him by getting upset if he did. As much as he hated it, he couldn’t help crying when his friends yelled at him.

He parked, sitting in silence for a moment before turning to Freddie.

“Ready?” John asked, reaching out tentatively and squeezing his hand. Freddie nodded, keeping his eyes cast down toward the floor, looking a little bit guilty.   


“Alright, come on,” he smiled, trying his best to smile, helping him out of the van and up the stairs into the surgery. The second John stepped inside he felt his heart start to race. He  _ hated _ going to the doctor, even if it wasn’t for him. It was one thing taking care of Freddie, but being in a room filled with sick people he didn't even know was something else, and something he wasn’t willing to do for anybody but his boyfriend. Freddie’s face softened when he saw how twitchy John seemed sitting beside him, and he reached out to take his hand.

“Do you want to wait in the van?” he asked, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. John felt a bit silly, he was supposed to be worrying about Freddie, not the other way around, and he bravely shook his head.

“You sure?” he asked. John nodded again, hoping he wouldn’t ask again, because he didn’t know if he’d say no next time. He didn’t have to, because a young man exited a room and called Freddie’s name.

“Want me to come?” John asked, watching him from his seat as he stood up.   


“Mmhm,” Freddie nodded, and John leapt at the chance to get out of the waiting room, following him down to a consult room.

There was only one chair, so John stood awkwardly against the wall, just glad to be out of the germy waiting room, into a slightly less germy, more private area, keeping quiet whilst the doctor examined Freddie. He found himself getting maybe a tiny bit jealous when he asked him to lift his shirt and started pressing on Freddie’s chest, and what  _ looked  _ like caressing his neck, and he had to look away to stop himself from getting angry. He knew he was only doing his job, but something inside him felt stupidly protective over Freddie. He stared at the wall opposite the entire time, only turning his head when he heard the doctor clearly speaking louder to get his attention.

“By the looks of things, I’d say scarlet fever,” he said, sitting back in his chair and grabbing a prescription pad and pen, “it happens sometimes with a strep throat infection, it’s not very common but it looks like you’ve gotten quite unlucky.”

Freddie scoffed at that, shaking his head in disbelief.   


“Sounds about right,” he sighed, looking up at John, taking his hand. John puffed his chest out a bit when he did, shooting a pointed look to the doctor, who obviously didn’t care, he wasn't even looking, too busy writing a prescription. Freddie noticed, smirking up at him, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

The doctor explained the medicine he was prescribing, an antibiotic, telling them that they could get it at the pharmacy attached to the surgery if they hurried, they shut early on Saturdays, and John was glad he wouldn’t have to drag Freddie any further out to get his medicine.

“Scarlet bloody fever, what is this, the forties?” Freddie sighed, wrapping his arm around John’s waist as they walked over to the pharmacy. John smiled, holding him close, feeling extra proud to have him at his side for some reason.   


“I don’t think germs care what decade it is love,” he smiled. Freddie turned his nose up, glad when John found him a seat to wait for his prescription. He boredly ran his finger along a row of shampoos as he waited, accidentally knocking a few off the end, shooting John a sheepish smile. He rolled his eyes, bending down to pick them up and set them back on the shelf carefully, holding both Freddie’s hands to stop him from causing any more trouble.

“You’re a pain,” he smiled fondly, standing beside him to wait. They were silent once again, save for the sound of Freddie trying to clear his throat and swallowing thickly, resting his head against John’s hip.   


“You alright?” he asked, running his hand through his hair. He shook his head. He seemed to have wilted quite a bit, looking paler than he had in a while, and didn’t look like he wanted to stay out much longer.   


“Can we get some more strepsils?” he asked quietly, not bothering to look up. John nodded, before realising he couldn’t see him.   


“Mm. Which flavour?” he asked, standing upright from his slumped position.   


“Anything but strawberry,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the thought. John smiled, smoothing his hair down and moving off to find him some. He didn’t know what he’d prefer, so he brought back two packets, orange and lemon and ginger, showing him. Freddie tapped the orange packet, John hoped he meant those were the ones he wanted, putting the others back and taking the prescription once Freddie’s name was called.  It didn’t cost as much as he’d thought, which was nice, and Freddie popped a strepsil as they were walking to the van, looking like he was about to pass out. John got him situated in the front seat, backing off when he seemed to pale even more.   


“Can we… could we just sit for a minute?” Freddie asked, voice breathy and a bit pained, and he leaned his head back, shutting his eyes against the headrest.

“Yeah, yeah sure…” John said warily, slowly rounding the van and sliding into the driver’s seat. He watched as Freddie went from pale, to paler, to almost green, and he felt his heart race as he knew what was next, bracing himself as best he could.

“Deaks I’m going to-” was all he managed to choke out, throwing the door open and leaning out to get sick, a mixture of water and bile and strepsil, all over the asphalt. John jumped, feeling frozen in place as he watched on. He wanted to run, but he was rooted in place, heart racing, blood whooshing past his ears. He wanted to cover his ears and shut his eyes and yell until he was done, he wanted to push him out of the van and drive away, but he couldn't do either of those things. Freddie  _needed_ him, and he couldn't just let him suffer alone. He was slowly feeling his panic being replaced with a fierce compulsion to help Freddie, tentatively reaching a hand out and placing it on his back, motionless. Despite it being a small gesture, it was a  _ big _ step for John, and he couldn’t help feeling a little bit proud of himself, despite the panic still swirling around in his chest, threatening to spill over into a full blown panic attack any second.

It didn't thank god, he kept his hand motionless on Freddie's back, wincing with every heave and movement and sharp intake of breath. It took Freddie a few minutes to be sure he was done, warily sitting upright, turning his head to look at John apologetically.   


“Darling I’m so sorry I really didn’t think-” he started, but John shushed him, shaking his head and handing him a fistful of tissues. He took them gratefully, cleaning up his mouth, and the part of the door he’d managed to hit, dropping the tissues in the garden.  Once he was back in the van, he started apologising again, and John shook his head firmly.   


“Freddie, it’s alright. You couldn’t have helped it,” he assured him, feeling quite proud of himself for being so calm about it, squeezing his shoulder as he pulled the door shut. Freddie leaned his head against the window, pulling his legs up under him to keep warm. John shrugged off his coat, feeling a bit warm anyway, wrapping it around his shoulders.   


“Such a gentleman,” Freddie murmured, smiling softly over at him.   


“You’re taking it surprisingly well.”

“What?” John asked, frowning, worried he’d missed something.   


“The, you know, me being…” Freddie trailed off, gesturing to the door, not really wanting a reminder of what had just happened.   


“Oh! Oh, yeah well… when you love someone I guess you just kinda ‘push through’,” he mumbled, shrugging. He hadn't meant for it to come out so 'romantic', but it was how he felt, he supposed.  Freddie rolled his eyes and lightly punched his arm.   


“You are  _ such _ a sap! Look at you,” he smiled warmly, snuggling into his coat, gazing at John like he was falling in love all over again.

“ _ I’m _ the sap? Really? Have you seen yourself recently?” he asked, starting the van. Freddie just shrugged, giddy smile still on his face, gazing at John as he drove him home. 

He helped Freddie back up the stairs, hardly making it with both of them in one piece. Freddie was beyond exhausted, tumbling in the door and slinking straight to their bedroom to fall back into bed. Brian was up, making breakfast, probably for Roger, and he could still hear the blond snoring away in his bedroom.   


“Hey Deaks. How’d it go?” he asked, looking up from the stove curiously, eyeing the pharmacy bag.   


“Scarlet fever, apparently,” he sighed, crossing the flat into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and reading the directions on the packet. Three a day with food. Three a day he could do, it was the with food part he was worried about, with Freddie feeling so awful. He managed him being sick once, but he didn't know if that was a fluke, and he was eager to avoid it happening again.

“Scarlet fever huh? That sounds pretty bad, is he going to be alright?” Brian frowned, craning his neck to get a look at the medication John was busy inspecting.   


“Mm, apparently not that bad, doctor didn't seem too fussed. Only needs some antibiotics,” he shrugged. Brian shrugged back, watching him drop a slice of bread into the toaster.

“Not sure how he’s going to go with food though, he was sick while we were out,” he said. Brian’s eyes widened a bit, and he looked John up and down.   


“And… how was that..?” he asked delicately, frowning.   


“Disgusting,” John said nonchalantly, feeling quite proud of himself.   


“You don’t seem too worried,” Brian said suspiciously, folding his arms.   


“I was at the time but now that it’s happened I’m just… I just wanted to be there for him,” he shrugged. Brian’s face softened, and he shook his head. 

“I don’t know about you sometimes, honestly Deaks,” he rolled his eyes, but it seemed a fond enough gesture that he didn’t mind.

“He’s got to have his medicine with food though, so I don’t know how that’s going to go,” he said, sounding a bit more worried as he thought about it.

“Well, you’re on the right track with toast I think. Might see if me and Rog can figure something out in the way of soup later on. Maybe with two of us it’ll be edible,” he joked. John took the toast out of the toaster when it popped, putting it on a plate, deciding against buttering it. That might be pushing it.   


“Don’t strain yourselves,” he grinned, and Brian shot him a withering look.   


“Don’t be cheeky or you’ll get nothing,” he warned, not sounding  _ too _ serious, but he nodded obediently.

“Alright, sorry,” he grinned, taking the medicine and toast and water in to Freddie, finding him curled up in the middle of the bed with his shoes still on.

“Hey, love, I know you're tired but you can’t sleep just yet,” he hushed, squeezing his calf and sitting down. He opened an eye, glaring up at him, noting his hands were full. His curiosity got the better of him, and he sat up to see what he’d brought him.

“You have to take your medicine, and it says you have to have it with food,” he explained, holding out the plate toward him. He turned his nose up at that, turning his head away.   


“I’m not hungry,” he huffed, shaking his head. John sighed.

“Yeah, I know, but you really need to start on your medicine so you don’t get  _ really  _ sick,” he coaxed.

“I already am  _ really  _ sick,” he grumbled, folding his arms.

“One bite?” he begged. Freddie gave him his best glare, taking the piece of toast and taking the most miniscule bite John had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but laugh.   


“Alright, you’ve got me there,” he sighed, shaking his head. That was good enough for him, he knew that Freddie knew his own limits and wasn't keen on trying to push the envelope today.

“Now it’s one three times a day, but its nearly lunchtime so I think that means you’ve only got to have two today,” he said, sounding a bit unsure.   


“That’s what Dr Handsome said, not that you were paying any attention, jealous,” Freddie smiled, noting John’s cheeks heating up, lips pursing.

“He wasn’t that handsome, and I  _ wasn’t _ jealous,” he grumbled, popping out a pill and shoving it towards Freddie with a glass of water, almost spilling it.

“Alright, no need to get upset. You know I think you’re  _ much _ more handsome than any doctor,” he smiled, taking his pill and swallowing it down, wincing a bit. John’s cheeks went red again, for a different reason this time, and he ducked his head.

“Yes I think you’re handsome, don’t even ask,” Freddie sighed, knowing the look he was giving him meant he was about to go all bashful and do the whole "you really think I;m handsome?" routine, and Freddie didn’t have the energy in him to convince him. He just smiled, satisfied that Freddie had taken his first dose of medication, and was well on his way to being healthy again. 

“Let’s get those shoes off,” he smiled, in much better spirits after a good dose of flattery, easing his trainers off and helping him sit back.   


“Oh! Before you sleep, do you need to er,” he said awkwardly, glancing at the door, not wanting to say it out loud in case it upset him, but not wanting a repeat incident of the previous night. They didn't have any clean sheets left.   


“What? Oh, no, no I’m alright,” Freddie said, sounding a bit shy, which was definitely unlike him, but John didn't blame him for that.

“Perhaps I’d better,” he muttered after a second, standing up and swaying a bit.   


“Do you need help?” John asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m alright thank you,” he said, sounding ridiculously formal as he slunk out the door and across the flat to the bathroom. He heard Brian’s voice, asking how he was feeling, but Freddie didn’t respond, obviously still feeling a bit embarrassed about last night's state.  John waited patiently, drawing the curtains closed and making the bed, plugging the fairy lights back in and folding the corner of the covers back, wanting to make everything nice for Freddie. He wasn’t quite as good at being a carer as Freddie was, but he really was trying his best. Freddie deserved it after all he did for everybody.

Freddie stumbled back into the room, practically collapsing onto the bed and crawling under the covers. John was quick to tuck him in, planting a kiss on his forehead, all the panic he’d felt when Freddie had first gotten sick had dissipated, and been replaced with pure love.

“Aren’t you just lovely?” Freddie mumbled, shooting him an exhausted looking smile, reaching up a shaky hand to hold the back of his head, so that he could look at him a while longer.

“I don’t know about  _ lovely, _ ” John shrugged, “charming, maybe.”

Freddie snorted, letting go of him and settling back onto his pillows.

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” Freddie asked casually. John tilted his head, not sure what he meant.   


“What?”

“Well, it’s Saturday. Haven’t you got plans?” he asked, interrupting himself with a yawn.

“Not without you I don’t,” he smiled, shaking his head and settling back on the bed.   


“You can’t just hang around with me all day. I’ll just be asleep,” Freddie pointed out. John shrugged. He didn’t really mind that at all, he could relax and read and keep an eye on him, not to mention he was starting to find him incredibly adorable in this state, and didn't really want to miss anything.   


“I can, though,” he smiled, and Freddie’s face lit up as he snuggled closer to him, getting settled once he was certain he was sticking around for the day.   


“Was that a test?” John asked, wrapping an arm around him. Freddie shrugged.   


“No. Maybe it should have been though,” he smiled.   


“Think Brian and Rog are going to have a go at making you some soup later, so I might have to supervise that too,” he smiled, gently twirling the ends of Freddie’s hair.

“Oh god, that’ll be something to see,” he snorted, letting out a sigh and shutting his eyes as John picked up a discarded novel from beside his bed. He’d been meaning to get back into it for a while, and this was the perfect opportunity. He thumbed through it, trying to figure out where he was up to, giving up for the moment, being perfectly content to watch Freddie fall asleep. He listened to his breathing even out, humming a tune softly, settling down in bed, hoping to get some sleep too. Come to think of it, he was exhausted after the night, and morning he’d had, and he could do with a few extra hours.

“Hmm hmm sunshine, my only sunshine,” he half sung, half hummed tiredly, gently running his fingertips over Freddie’s scalp, jumping a bit when his eyes snapped open.   


“I  _ knew  _ you were lying about not being able to sing!” he croaked, pointing a finger at him accusingly. John shook his head with a smile, face going almost completely red.   


“I can’t sing,” he sighed.

“You  _ can, _ ” Freddie protested, sticking out his bottom lip, before his face lifted into a smile.   


“You were singing, and it was just for me,” he swooned, gazing up at John, that same look from before on his face, loving and adoring and all the things John couldn’t get enough of.   


“Alright, you caught me I guess,” he sighed, rolling his eyes, pulling the covers up around his chin.   


“Warm enough?” he asked, trying to change the subject, feeling a little bit flustered. He didn't sing. Only in the shower, or when he was driving by himself, and only for fun. He couldn't  _actually_ sing, and he didn't want the embarrassment of proving it, but Freddie caught on.   


“Keep going!” he insisted, John was sure he was actually trying to burrow into his side, pressing his forehead against his hip and poking him with a bony finger.   


“No,” he mumbled, feeling far too embarrassed.

“You can’t say no. I’m sick and I love you, so you have to,” he said, voice muffled by John’s shirt. He sighed, rolling his eyes. It was almost impossible to say no to Freddie, and he knew if he did, he’d just keep whining until he gave in.   


“Fine. But you have to go to sleep,” he sighed. Freddie nodded excitedly, squeezing his eyes shut and making himself comfortable.   


“Alright, and I’m only doing one song,” he added, snuggling him close, feeling dreadfully embarrassed as he opened his mouth.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he started, not trying too hard. He was absolutely sure he sounded woeful, but he’d never seen Freddie look so happy in his life.   


“You make me happy when skies are grey,” he continued, loosening up a bit when he felt Freddie relax in his arms, breathing deepening as he drifted off to his lullaby.   


“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” John curled up beside him, meaning every word that he sang, no matter how out of tune, planting a tender kiss in the middle of his forehead. He suddenly felt very comfortable singing in front of him, because that’s what Freddie did to him. He made him feel comfortable and wanted and loved, and all John wanted in life was to do the same for Freddie, tightening his grip on him a little, not sure how he’d managed to find somebody like Freddie, knowing that he was one in a million, meaning it very much as he sang the last line of his lullaby,   


“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so short omg im sorry idk if im that happy with this fic but here u goooo  
> There may be a lil break before i upload bri's fic, i've written a bit of it but idk if im happy with it either so i may need to do some editing before im gonna upload that one but i do have some other stuff in the works that will maybe come before?  
> hope you enjoyed despite its shortness love ya <3

**Author's Note:**

> anybody getting sick of weather puns? too bad bc i am not  
> also ur probably thinking omg who wouldn't order popcorn at the movies bc of that thats unrealistic UH lemme tell u literally this bitch on my first date with my gf back when i was a lil emetophobic freak ok anxiety is a hell of a drug  
> hope u enjoyed love ya <3


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